


The shape of the world around us

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Botanist!Sherlock, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, John Has a Beard, John is hot, Love at First Sight, Lumberjack!John, M/M, Masturbation, Sherlock loves it, Sherlock loves it too, based on art, bit of case-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking through the bush, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken as a man passed in front of him. Sherlock frowned, trying to get a closer look despite the bush. The man was wearing a red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the man’s arms. Muscular, slightly tanned with golden hairs along his forearms. For some unknown reason, Sherlock found himself imagining them around his waist, holding him tightly.  </p><p>Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Sherlock shook his head. Opening his eyes and looking back to where the man stood only a moment prior, he found himself alone. </p><p>Great, now his only chance to find his way back to town was gone.</p><p>“Why are you wearing a suit?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillmenbt.tumblr.com/)  
> Based on an amazing AU and art by [Thetwelfthpanda](http://thetwelfthpanda.tumblr.com/post/141596128048/girljohn-please-accept-my-humble-trash-offering/)

“Every plant is an individual.

Wrong again. We are not individuals at all, we are all connected. We are individuals the way each blossom on an apple tree is an individual.”  
**― Dale Pendell, Pharmako/Poeia: Plant Powers, Poisons, and Herbcraft**

~~

“You really shouldn’t go by yourself,” the hotel manager insisted, holding the door as Sherlock carried the different pots and plants inside his room. “Those woods are huge!”

Sherlock sighed, checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything in the too bright and crowded hallway before closing the door in the man’s face. He didn’t have time for useless small talk and unwanted concern, especially coming from a man who clearly had the habit of spying on the hotel residents. He alreadyhad one annoying brother to do that job. For all he knew, Mycroft probably had men already placed in various rooms in the hotel, ensuring Sherlock wouldn’t get into too much trouble during his stay. 

“I can find you a guide!” The manager called from the hallway and Sherlock considered telling him about the two different maids stealing from the clients just to make him go away. But the man’s voice resonated once last time, “I’ll be at the reception if you need me!”

Sherlock waited until he heard him walk away before grabbing his bag and keys, making sure anyone no one was paying him any attention before going for the emergency exit. He had spotted a path into the woods earlier and if everything went according to plan, he could be back in London by tomorrow. Lestrade had found him a week ago, talking about this a series of murders in some small and boring town in the countryside and practically begged Sherlock for his input on the case. Sherlock had jumped at the occasion. It had been months since he last worked a case, and soon it had become apparent the murders were all related to a plant he had planned to study for his next blog entry anyway. 

“Sir, that is an emergency door,” an old woman called as Sherlock pushed the door open. 

“Good thing it’s an emergency!” Sherlock replied, forcing a smile before walking out.

The woods were close, barely five minutes away by foot. Sherlock checked he had everything in his bag one last time before taking the path directly into the forest. He only needed to find a humid spot, devoid of trees and the plant should be there. If the murderer managed to find it three times already, it shouldn’t take long for Sherlock to get his own sample. If he was right, and he clearly was, it would take less than three hours to prove the killer used the poison inside the plant to kill his victim in their sleep, and he would be back at Baker Street with brand new samples for his newest study.

Almost too easy, Sherlock thought with a smile, and began to scan the ground for any sign of the plants. 

It took exactly two hours and twelve minutes for Sherlock to realise he was completely lost. He had searched for the plant everywhere, almost fallen twice, and had mud and grass all over his shoes and trousers. Taking out his phone, Sherlock cursed out loud at the missing signal. How was he supposed to find his way back through there, he was seeing the same trees over and over again, and despite his ability to name them all, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to town. Sighing, he looked up, remembering the time he spent bored to death at home, learning how to travel with only the sun as a compass, but of course he couldn’t even discern its position in the sky with all the trees around him. 

“Now would be a good time for you to just show up, Mycroft,” Sherlock muttered, avoiding branches on the ground. 

He needed to find his way back before nightfall. He couldn’t spend the night lost in these woods, he needed to-

“Oh, f-”

Sherlock found himself face down in the grass before he could do anything about it. Cursing again, Sherlock began to straighten up when he froze. The plants. Right under his nose. Sherlock hurried to kneel, forgetting entirely about the state of his clothes as he took his knife out of his bag. There were enough plants for both the case and his personal study. He was just about to cut the last one when he heard a whistle, somewhere near. Placing the plant in his bag, he stood up, searching for the source of the sound, and then crouched back down, hiding behind a bush as the whistle got nearer and nearer. Looking through the bush, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken as a man passed in front of him. Sherlock frowned, trying to get a closer look despite the bush. The man was wearing a red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the man’s arms. Muscular, slightly tanned with golden hairs along his forearms. For some unknown reason, Sherlock found himself imagining them around his waist, holding him tightly. 

Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Sherlock shook his head. Opening his eyes and looking back to where the man stood only a moment prior, he found himself alone. 

Great, now his only chance to find his way back to town was gone.

“Why are you wearing a suit?”

Sherlock jumped in surprise, the knife that was still in his hand cutting deeply into his palm with the movement. The very same man was hovering above him frowning, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, honest concern in his voice. 

“Fine,” Sherlock snapped, standing up. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look like you’re fine,” the man remarked and Sherlock allowed himself to take a proper look at him.

He scanned over the blond hair, bright eyes, beard and small smile before glancing at the logs by the man’s foot. Lumberjack then. 

“I cut myself,” he explained, already searching through his bag for some bandages.

“Let me see,” the man replied, stepping closer and taking Sherlock’s hand in his. 

Sherlock froze again, eyes fixed on the fingers around his wrist. He felt himself blush and took a deep, steadying breath. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, trying to escape the man’s hold.

“It’s a pretty deep cut,” the man said, “You’ll probably need stitches.”

“Great,” Sherlock sighed.

“My house isn’t far,” the man declared, looking up and catching Sherlock’s eyes, “I can take care of it.”

“Not far? We’re in the middle of the woods,” Sherlock remarked, removing his hand.

“Quite observant, I see,” the man laughed, picking up the logs. “I’m John, by the way.”

Sherlock frowned, his skin still warm from John’s touch, “Sherlock.”

John smiled, a genuine smile that made Sherlock’s heart beat just a little faster, and he hurried to pick up his bag. John was still staring at him when he looked back at him, and Sherlock busied himself by checking that the plants weren’t damaged too badly.

“So, are you coming or not?” John asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock sighed, earning another laugh from John before he turned his back to him.

“Follow me then.”

Sherlock tried not to stare at John’s back, or lower, and focused on the ground beneath his feet. He really didn’t need to fall again, not now. He was quite certain they were going in the wrong direction, but John kept going, oblivious to Sherlock’s train of thoughts. An axe in one hand, he seemed in his element here, but somehow, Sherlock felt as if he belonged to an entirely different world. 

“So, what were you doing there alone?” John asked, glancing back at him.

“I’m a botanist,” Sherlock answered honestly. 

“That explains the suit,” John laughs. 

“Are we really going to your house?” 

John stopped, turning to face him again, “You don’t trust me?”

Sherlock frowned, “I’m following you, no?”

“I could be a serial killer.”

Sherlock snorted, “You’re clearly not. The instant I cut myself, you offered to help me. Your touch was gentle, your eyes evaluating my wound quickly and quite efficiently. You waited until you were certain I was alright before letting go and implied you had all the medical equipment you needed at your house. You’re clearly used to taking care of people, and so, not a serial killer.”

John stared at him for a long minute, mouth stretched into a half-smile before saying, “What was that?”

“I’m quite observant,” Sherlock smiled.

John laughed again, clearing his throat as he adverted his eyes from Sherlock, “We’re almost there.”

They remained silent for the rest of the walk, but Sherlock could almost hear John thinking, questions on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say a word. After ten minutes of walking together, John began to slow his pace, looking around as if he were checking for something. Sherlock followed his stare but only noticed trees and flowers here and there. 

“We’re here,” John finally said.

John’s house stood in the middle of the woods, small and somehow part of the landscape. 

“You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?” John asked as he put the logs by the front door, Sherlock following right behind.

“Dogs?”

John nodded, opening the door and a large dog jumped at him, “Yes, dogs!”

Sherlock couldn’t hold back a laugh as John tried to stay upright, hands petting the dog’s head and ears. 

“I had to leave him home today, he hurt himself a few days ago,” John explained and the dog suddenly noticed Sherlock, coming to greet him as well.

“Not allergic, then,” John smiled, staring at them both before grabbing the dog’s collar, “Toby, get back inside!”

The dog licked at Sherlock’s hand one last time before following John inside, Sherlock right behind him. The inside of the house was simple, there was barely a photograph or a painting, but Sherlock felt its warmth surround him. 

“You can sit there,” John said, pointing at one of the chairs facing the fireplace, “I’ll get my emergency kit.”

Sherlock put his bag at his feet, sitting down. Toby came to rest his head on his lap looking up at him, and Sherlock pet him slowly. He could still remember Redbeard jumping on his bed late at night to do the exact same thing. 

“Toby, go away,” John said when he came back, sitting next to him. “Let me see that hand.”  
Sherlock watched in silence as John cleaned his wound, fingers gentle and eyes focused. He didn’t glance at him once, Sherlock doing enough staring for the both of them. On first glance, Sherlock could assert John’s hair was at least five different shades of blonde, from plain blonde to a hint of grey by his ears, and Sherlock felt the oddest urge to thread his fingers through it.

“Earlier,” John suddenly said, making Sherlock jump with surprise, again, “What you said, about me not being a serial killer, you didn't tell me how you knew all that.”

“I did,” Sherlock replied, a small shiver running up his arm as John’s thumbs caressed his palm as he inspected the rest of his skin, “I simply observed.”

John glanced up at him, “What do you observe now?”

Sherlock waited for a second, waiting to see if John was serious but he only looked down at Sherlock’s wound again, still smiling.

“You live alone,” Sherlock began, “have done for at least two years now, but you didn’t always live in the countryside. You grew up in London, studied medicine and served two years in the army.” Sherlock stopped, looking more closely at John before continuing, “You were shot, shoulder, but had a limp ever since you came back. This,” Sherlock looked around him, John staring up again, “All this is the only way you found to keep busy while avoiding people’s stares.”

John stayed silent, eyes fixed on him and Sherlock guessed his question before he could open his mouth, “How?”

“There are two different coats next to the door, one you use everyday, the other there just because you haven’t managed to get rid of it yet. It’s a city coat, two to three years old, well worn, it has a sentimental attachment. You used to live in the city and loved it, the nearest is London, it’s hardly a difficult guess.” Sherlock took a breath, John still staring at him. “Then there is the emergency kit. You have much more there than any random citizen in England would keep in their home, and your stitches are perfect. Medical training. Besides, there are the army tags on the fireplace mantle, so, army doctor. But why would a doctor live in the middle of the woods?”

John leant back against his chair and Sherlock tried not to be disappointed, repressing a shiver as John let go of his hand.

“Now, an army doctor who now lives in the woods and works as lumberjack, why indeed?” Sherlock continued, “Invalided home, obviously. The shot in the shoulder is easy, you automatically choose your other arm to carry heavy things. The limp, that, I almost missed. It was very light in the woods, you feel at ease out there, but it came back when we arrived here and you noticed the open enveloppes on the sofa table. Something stressful apparently, probably reminding you of the past you’re trying of forget, hence coming to live in the middle of the woods.”

Sherlock stopped, inhaling deeply. He hadn’t meant to say that much. He knew too well how people reacted, how they stared and cursed and told him to go away. He should have kept his mouth shut. 

“That,” John began, shaking his head, and Sherlock got ready to stand up and leave, “was amazing.”

“Sorry?”

Sudden warmth, spreading throughout his chest and making his face heated.

“Extraordinary,” John breathed out, smiling at him.

Sherlock found himself smiling back, “You think so?”

“Yes, you really see everything!” He paused. “Observed everything.”

“I can’t help myself,” Sherlock replied.

“You had one thing wrong,” John said, leaning towards him, “I’m not alone, I have Toby!”

The dog looked up at them at the mention of his name and Sherlock laughed, “Yes, Toby.”

“Botanist, you said?” John asked, “You never thought of, I don’t know, joining the police?”

“I don’t get along with rules,” Sherlock replied. John’s laugh echoed in the room and warmed Sherlock’s chest even more, “I sometimes help the Yard on some cases, but I’ve been fascinated with plants and flowers since I was a kid, so I choose to make it my profession.”

“And what do you do?” John asked, seeming truly interested. 

“I mostly study rare plants and flowers and collect data,” Sherlock explained, “Some of my research got published, some didn’t.”

“So a famous Botanist, then?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John laughed again. He put everything back in the emergency, kit, eyes lingering on it before asking, “And what were you looking for here?”

“It’s for a case, actually,” Sherlock answered.

“Oh, really?” John grinned, “Are you allowed to talk about it?” 

Sherlock smiled, “I told you, I’m not good with rules.”

John laughed, the sound filling Sherlock’s head, and he realised he had to find a way to hear the light sound again, to collect more data before he had to leave. 

“So, what happened?” 

Sherlock started explaining the case in detail, following John to his kitchen when he suggested he could make them some tea. He asked questions, actual interesting questions that made Sherlock stop and think for several minutes, ignoring John entirely, but John didn’t say anything. He waited, sipping his tea until Sherlock answered, talking too fast for anyone to follow. But John smiled and laughed as Sherlock confessed his fall earlier and managed to make Sherlock blush again as he smiled, proposing to check for any other possible wounds.

“I had no idea three people had been killed in town,” John declared when Sherlock was finished, setting their two cups by the sink.

“It’s a small town,” Sherlock remarked.

“I know,” John replied, “but I don’t go there often.”

Sherlock nodded, eyes lingering on the bandage around his hand, “I should head back, I need to study these plants before it's too late.”

“Yes, sorry,” John smiled, “I’ll take you back.”

Turned out John lived barely twenty minutes away from the woods frontier, and they spent the entire time talking about John’s work. Sherlock listened carefully as John told him about the different contracts he had for the year, explaining in detail the different ways of uprooting a dead tree. Sherlock found himself hoping they could get lost again, just so he could listen to John’s voice and watch him smile some more, but soon he could discern the first houses and road, and John slowed down as they arrived at the end of the path.

“Your hotel shouldn’t be far,” John said, still smiling, and Sherlock considered lying so John would walk with him a bit more. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied, his phone vibrating in his pocket with three new messages, “For your help and everything.”

John smiled, shrugging, “It was my fault you cut yourself in the first place.”

Sherlock’s phone vibrated again, and he took it out, glaring at Mycroft’s name on the screen.

“Someone’s worried about you,” John remarked.

“My brother,” Sherlock sighed, “Annoying as ever.”

John laughed, looking around them before saying, “I was thinking, I should check your bandage tomorrow,” he shrugged again, “You know, in case it gets infected.”

Sherlock tried to conceal his smile, certain he was failing miserably as he responded, “You're the doctor.”

John looked back at him, eyes smiling, “I’ll meet you here around noon?”

“Sounds good,” Sherlock replied.

“I should head back before Toby finds a way to get out.”

Sherlock nodded, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yes,” John smiled, “tomorrow”.

He stayed still for a minute before walking away, nodding at Sherlock one last time before disappearing into the woods. Sherlock remained there for a moment, contemplating chasing after John and spending the evening with him. He still had so many questions, and John had been nice to him, had truly seemed interested in Sherlock’s work. Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this physical need to be with someone.

His phone rang, the melody breaking the silence and Sherlock hung up without even glancing at the screen. It was probably Mycroft or Lestrade, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to either of them. He made his way back to the hotel quickly, avoiding the hotel manager and the two different clients staring at the state of his clothes. His room was strangely cold when he arrived but Sherlock didn’t pay much attention to it, taking the plants out of his bag and placing them carefully on the small desk by the window. He had brought his microscope and other necessary equipment for a proper study of the plant’s poison with him, and he needed to get it to as quickly as possible. 

It was four hours later that Sherlock leant back against his chair, back aching and eyelids closing on their own. Night had fallen a long while before, and Sherlock stretched, suppressing a yawn. He turned off the light, practically falling on top of the hotel bed and buried his face inside the soft pillow. It felt as if he hadn’t slept in days, which was probably the case, and he could already feel his brain shutting off. He fell asleep, a strange warmth spreading throughout his entire body.


	2. Hope

It was the bright sunlight peeking through the still open curtains that woke him up the next morning, and he quickly glanced at his phone. 11:34 a.m. It took Sherlock exactly two seconds to remember John and their rendez-vous at noon, and he was on his feet in less than that. His experiment laid untouched on the desk, the plants he had found yesterday recalling images of John’s smile and bare arms, and he reached for his bag. He put all the equipment he needed inside, making sure nothing could be damaged before heading for the bathroom. In less than fifteen minutes, he was showered and dressed. Remembering John’s comments from yesterday, he had chosen a pair of dark shorts and a blue chambray shirt over his suit. 

It was stupid, but as he checked himself out in front of the mirror, he couldn’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t stick to the suit. He knew how much people stared and reacted when he was wearing them. People liked the suits, found him attractive in suits. Surely John would too.

Sherlock shook his head, refusing to yield to the temptation to go change and grabbed his bag. He rolled his sleeves up as he made his way to the woods, feeling his body tense as he spotted John. He was still wearing the same shorts as yesterday but the red plaid shirt had been replaced by a light blue one. Sherlock couldn’t help but admire John’s bare biceps and arms again. He wondered if John’s skin would be warm under his fingers, if he would shiver at Sherlock’s touch, or if he would pull away and say Sherlock could manage without his help after all. 

“Sherlock!” 

John turned to face him as soon as he saw him, smiling and Sherlock forced himself to regain some composure before saying, “Hello, John.”

“Sleep well?” John asked, eyeing his bag but saying nothing about it.

“You could say so, yes,” Sherlock replied carefully, not remembering the last time he slept so soundly. 

John’s smile widened, “Your bandage doesn’t look bad,” he remarked and Sherlock glanced at his own hand. He had forgotten about his injury entirely. “Better check it anyway,” John continued. “Besides, I think Toby is waiting for you to come back.”

Sherlock frowned and John laughed, both of them entering the woods. John was standing close, closer than yesterday Sherlock noticed, and he matched his pace to John’s. “He is,” John said, “He’s been staring at the door for the entire morning.”

“He probably just want to go out,” Sherlock replied.

John shook his head, “Oh no, I know him.” He smiled, this time looking down at the ground, “You’ll see when you get there.” He flashed his eyes back to Sherlock’s face, “I hope you don’t mind getting dirty,” he continued, eyes traveling on Sherlock’s clothes, “These look expensive.”

Sherlock shrugged, “I don’t mind.”

John nodded, still smiling, “True. I did find you covered in leaves and mud yesterday!”

Sherlock felt himself blush at the memory and John’s laughter echoed around them. He didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling afterward, Sherlock’s own shy smile more directed at the ground than at John. 

They arrived at John’s house quickly, and Sherlock took the time to take a proper look this time. The house was entirely composed of wood material, the color light compared the trees around, and Sherlock caught sight of a small fence on the other side. Maybe John was keeping a garden there, growing his own vegetables. Anything to avoid a trip to town. It was obvious John hadn’t built this house, it used to belong to someone else before him, most likely someone from John’s family. He must have agreed to take over the business when he came back from the war, and had lived there ever since. 

“Sherlock? Everything alright?”

Sherlock looked back at John, taking in his amused eyes and sly smile, “Yes, yes.”

“That looks heavy,” John said, nodding at Sherlock’s bag, “Let’s get inside.”

John didn’t ask what was inside the bag and Sherlock wondered if he’d guessed already. The moment John opened the door, Toby was on Sherlock. John’s laughter filled the air as he pushed him away, “Toby, let him be.”

The dog licked at Sherlock’s wrist, barking, before greeting John. Sherlock watched as John’s features relaxed, both hands threading through the short hair on Toby's head, “Good boy, come on, you can go.” 

Toby lead the way inside the house, John walking to the bathroom as he said, “You can sit back in the armchair, I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Just as he had the day before, John took care of Sherlock’s wound quickly, and just like the day before, Sherlock found himself unable to look away from John’s fingers on his skin. Feeling more like himself, more focused, Sherlock catalogued the exact pressure of John’s index and thumb into the palm of his hand, the softness of his hand and the four times John’s finger lingered just a little longer than necessary. Oblivious to Sherlock’s study, John tossed the soaked bandage in the bin before wrapping a new one around his cut. Neither of them were talking, the quiet sound of their breathing filling the house. 

Sherlock clenched his hand when John pulled away, “Alright?” he asked and Sherlock looked up at his eyes.

“Yes.”

John smiled, putting away the kit before standing up. “Tea?”

Sherlock nodded, and John went to the open kitchen. Sherlock didn’t move, watching John’s figure in the other room. He was turning his back to him, and Sherlock allowed his eyes to linger on the hairy legs, the muscular thighs he could discern hidden under the shorts and, blushing, the plump arse. Sherlock bit down his lower lip. He knew about sexual attraction. He had seen enough cases to know it was always an issue and had heard Lestrade’s men talk about it to know how boring, how dull it was. Yet, Sherlock was now picturing John’s body bare and sliding against his own, and he felt his cheeks heat. 

“Find what you were looking for yesterday?” John suddenly asked and Sherlock promptly looked away. John was coming back to sit in front of him, handing Sherlock his cup, “For your case?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “I found the trace of the poison the killer used, so now that I have the murder weapon, it won’t be hard to find him.”

“You’re certain he lives here?” John asked, sipping at his tea and looking at him over the rim of his cup.

“It’s obvious,” Sherlock replied, “he needs to be able to obtain the plants quickly, and therefore, he needs to know the woods. It’s most likely someone who grew up here and used to play inside these woods as kid. He must have read about poisonous plants in books and realised he had seen the plants before. After that, it was easy to extract the poison and start killing people.”

John frowned, remaining silent for a moment before saying, “So you think he’s killing just for the pleasure of it?”

Sherlock considered John’s statement for a second, “Killers, even serial killers or the most damaged ones, never kill randomly. There’s always a pattern, or at least something that connect each victim with the killer. Even during mass shootings, the killer doesn’t choose the place randomly, they target a certain population according to their beliefs. That’s their motivation.”

John nodded, resting his cup on the table, “So these killer’s victims, they’re connected?”

“They’re all around the same age and grew up here,” Sherlock said, “The Yard already suspected the killer had to be someone local and who went to same school as his victim. But without knowing how these people were killed, they can’t go much further than that.”

“So they called you.”

Sherlock nodded, “Obviously.”

John chuckled, “Shouldn’t you be working on finding him?”

“Actually,” Sherlock replied, glancing at his bag, “I brought with me everything I need. I overslept,” he confessed, “and so didn’t have the time to continue my research before coming here. So I thought I could work from here instead.”

He trailed off, realising how he must sound. There was no reason he couldn't head back to the hotel to work, no reason besides the obvious one, and John wasn’t stupid. Still, Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on John and waited for him to ask.

“I’ll fetch you my computer, it might help, yeah?” John said instead, smiling knowingly before adding, “Even if I live in the middle of the woods, Internet can always be useful.”

Sherlock smiled, a now familiar warmth spreading throughout his chest as he watched John walk to his bedroom. He waited for a second before standing up and reaching for his bag. He placed it on the large table, pulling out the files Lestrade had given him and sat down. John was back before he could open the first dossier and he sat down next to him, opening his computer.

“Are those the suspects?” He asked, nodding towards the files.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, eyes already scanning the information on the documents, “The DI in charge of the case gave them to me before I left London.”

“How many?”

“Minus this one,” Sherlock said, dismissing the first file, “Twenty-two.”

John’s eyes widened, “That’s a lot.”

“As usual, the Yard is clueless and therefore didn’t want to leave out any potential names,” Sherlock said and John laughed quietly. “It shouldn’t take long to sort out actual leads to find our killer.”

John nodded, reaching for the Yard’s report of the case, “May I?”

Sherlock hummed, engrossed in another suspect’s profile, and John began to read the details of the case silently. They worked on the list of suspects together, John speaking only to ask details of the case or point out something interesting in a suspect’s profile, asking Sherlock if he had noticed it before. Sherlock, used to working alone, found that John’s input was actually welcomed and twice his remarks made Sherlock reevaluate his suspicions. By the time Sherlock noticed the smell of food filling the house, he had ruled out eighteen files. He turned around to watch John in the kitchen, wondering when he had left the table, and realised he was actually hungry.

“Back to the real world?” John asked when Sherlock joined him, peering at the different vegetables in the pan. Vegetarian. “It’s already two p.m, so I figured we could take a break. You didn't answer when I suggested lunch, but I went ahead and made us some anyway.”

“I didn’t notice,” Sherlock said. 

“I figured that out, yeah,” John smiled, “Hungry?”

Sherlock nodded and soon they were both sitting at the table again, the files forgotten. Sherlock listened as John explained about the vegetables he grew in his garden, shyly agreeing to take a look at the plantain that still refused to grow. John’s smile as he thanked him made Sherlock look down at his plate. He listened absently as John explained how he ended up here, having already deduced most of it, and instead got lost in thoughts of John’s lips against his own. Sherlock wondered how his beard would feel against his skin as their lips brushed together, if John’s kisses would be soft, tender, slow, or hungry and passionate. Sherlock tried to remember the few times he’d kissed someone, for a case or a personal experiment, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling this overwhelming urge to kiss anyone before. 

“I’ve lost you again,” John said, smile in his voice, and Sherlock looked up at him again. “Still thinking about the case?”

“Yes,” Sherlock lied. 

“Any progress?”

“I have two strong suspicions but I’ll need to do some digging in town to be certain,” Sherlock explained.

“Oh,” John replied, averting his eyes and pretending to be busy finishing his meal, “I’ll take you back as soon as we’re finished.”

Sherlock was certain there was a hint of disappointment in John’s voice, and not wanting to leave him yet, Sherlock added, “I have to wait for nightfall to investigate, so there’s no need to rush.”

John didn't look up at him or acknowledge his reply, but Sherlock saw the tension in his shoulders loosen, and he smiled. “I could take a look at your garden,” he suggested.

“You really don’t have to,” John said, eyes finding his again.

“There isn’t much to do with these anymore,” Sherlock said, gesturing at the files, “So I have time.”

John smiled and nodded, “Alright, thank you.”

They finished eating, talking about the case, and Sherlock went through every detail again with John. He knew he could solve the case tonight and be home by morning, but somehow, the prospect of 221B’s empty rooms didn’t look as appealing as they had two days ago. He shrugged, standing up to help John place the dishes by the sink, “I’ll wash them later,” John said, “Let’s go see the garden.”

Sherlock followed him to back of the house, the temperature outside hotter than before, and Sherlock was glad he hadn’t worn his suit after all. John seemed at ease out here, his limp disappearing entirely as he opened the small gate to the garden and Sherlock entered behind him. He glanced at the different vegetables and herbs growing and spotted the reluctant ones in a corner, “Hmm, I see.”

“I’ve tried everything,” John explained, “But I can’t seem to make anything grow over there.”

“It’s most likely due to the ground or whatever's in it,” Sherlock said, “It’ll be easy to tell.”

John smiled, swaying on his feet before saying, “Do you need my help?”

“No,” Sherlock answered honestly and his head snapped towards John immediately as he realised how John could take it, but John was still smiling at him.

“I’ll be sorting out logs over there,” he pointed to the other side of the garden, “If you need me.”

Sherlock nodded, watching John go with the same warm smile on his lips, and wondered when the man would stop surprising him. He knew several people who would have commented on his answer and called him “an arrogant sod”, but John-

“Don’t stay too long in the sun,” John called, “You’ll get sunburn and I’ll have to take care of you again!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John laughed. As he kneeled to look at the different plants in front of him, Sherlock found himself wondering what John’s hands would feel like on his arms, legs, neck, and had to shake his head before his thoughts took him too far.

It took him a little more than a hour to find the small herb that had contaminated all the plants around it. He snatched it out of the ground and made sure no roots were still hanging on before standing up. He felt dizzy for a second, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath. He turned around, ready to explain the now resolved problem to John but his head spun, and this time for an entirely different reason. 

John was splitting logs. 

Without his shirt on.

Sherlock felt his breath catch, his entire body tensing as he took in John’s bare chest, the sweat on his shoulders and forehead and the way his muscles worked with every movement. Sherlock felt an unfamiliar heat pool in his abdomen, taking all the air out of him, and he let out a shaky whimper. He clasped a hand over his mouth, hoping John didn’t hear anything, but luckily the object of Sherlock’s focused attention remained oblivious to his staring. Sherlock let his eyes travel down the tanned neck, the adam's apple and stretched tendon. Lower, broad shoulders, damaged scar, sharp collar bones. Lower still, sparse chest hair, pink nipples, the rise and fall of that broad chest with each heavy breath. Even lower his eyes wandered, tight abdominal muscles, small marks on a glistening torso, blond splay of hair trailing down to-

Sherlock turned around again, hands clenched at his side and a blossoming erection inside his pants. It had been weeks since he had last been in this state, and that was only due to some annoying dreams. Sherlock really didn’t need to be aroused now. Not when he couldn’t take care of it. A cold shower was his usual remedy, the few times he took himself in hand, images of unknown hands and mouth on him, it took him several minutes to achieve orgasm. Neither option was exactly plausible right now. 

Sherlock inhaled deeply, forcing his arousal to stop building. He still had a bit of control over his own body, and just the thought of John realising he was getting hard because of him and being disgusted by it did the trick. He waited until he was breathing properly, preparing himself for the arousing sight before spinning on his feet and walking to John. 

“Oh, Sherlock,” John said, out of breath, and Sherlock’s cock twitched again, “Did you find the source of the problem?”

Sherlock breathed out slowly, forcing his eyes to stay upward, “Yes, just a poisonous herb, I removed it.”

“Thanks, really,” John smiled, “It was driving me crazy!”

Sherlock hummed, not trusting his voice as John chopped one last log before setting the axe on the ground. He picked up his plaid shirt and used it to wipe his face, exhaling loudly. “I’m dying for a cold drink, let’s go back inside.”

Sherlock walked back to the house without another word, not waiting for John before stepping in. He didn’t so much need a drink but something else entirely, something like John’s chest pressed against his own and John’s arms around his waist. When he looked back at John, he had put a new shirt on, but Sherlock could still see his skin glowing with sweat and he hurriedly looked away.

“Lemonade ok?” John asked and Sherlock quickly nodded.

They sat down at the table again, John finishing his glass quickly. Sherlock forced himself to sip at his own, to at least distract him from the way John’s adam’s apple worked with each gulp.

“You don’t eat much,” John suddenly said, “Or even drink much,” he nodded towards Sherlock’s glass.

Sherlock shrugged and John smiled, “No girlfriend at home to feed you up?”

John was looking directly at him, but there was something in his eyes that made Sherlock frown and he delivered his usual reply to these types of questions, “Girlfriends aren’t really my area.”

“Oh,” John breathed out, “A boyfriend then, making sure you don’t starve to death?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John looked away for the briefest of seconds, and he realised what was happening. Sherlock had been the subject of numerous flirting attempts before, and he knew how to make sure people would go away and leave him alone, but John’s not so subtle way of asking whether Sherlock was single or not made his lips twitch upward. 

He tightened his grip around his glass, “No,” he breathed out.

John’s smile when looked back at him lit up the room.

When Sherlock went back to his hotel that night, he had already solved the case, sent the information to Lestrade, and booked another two nights. He closed his eyes, standing in the middle of the room, remembering John’s lingering hand on his own when they had parted and the promise he had made to come back tomorrow. Sherlock smiled in the darkness of his room, an unstoppable hope growing inside him.


	3. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating goes up in this chapter!

Sherlock had spent the night, and most of the day too, thinking. 

He had remained wide awake all night, lying on top of the covers and staring at the ceiling above him. He had known, waking up this morning, that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for another two or three days, his body was well rested, and besides, thoughts of John were running through his head on a loop, making it impossible to focus on anything else. He couldn’t believe how much space John had managed to occupy inside his head in just two days. Surprisingly, Sherlock realised he didn’t mind. He could spend hours trying to figure out the exact colors in John’s hair, hours thinking about the way John smiled and laughed whenever Sherlock said something apparently funny enough to make John’s eyes twinkle, hours imagining what it would feel like to taste John’s laugh, to capture it with his mouth and swallow it down, making it his. 

Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time someone had caught his attention like this, but most importantly, the last time someone had made him feel like this. 

His phone rang but Sherlock ignored it, glancing at the clock. It was too early to meet John. He had told him he wouldn’t be able to meet him until late in the afternoon, but Sherlock had to force himself not to go anyway. John’s smile when Sherlock had made it clear he wasn’t in a relationship was still lingering in his head, and he felt the same hope spread through his mind. 

Sighing, Sherlock rolled to his stomach, a quiet moan escaping him as his cock rutted against the mattress. He had been erect for the last ten minutes, just the thought of John’s bare chest making his erection throb inside his pants. He rocked his hips against the sheet, eyes shut tight and his teeth digging into his lower lip to muffle his moans. It was so easy to imagine how things could have gone differently yesterday if only Sherlock hadn’t turned his back to John. John looking up and noticing the want in Sherlock’s eyes and his erection pressing against the front of his shorts. 

“Hmm,” Sherlock breathed out, one hand sliding between the mattress and his stomach to rub at his cock through his pants.

Sherlock was certain John’s scent was divine. He had managed to discern some aromas, wet wood, fresh grass and the smallest hint of green tea, and it was enough to fill his fantasies. Sherlock wanted to lick at John’s neck, to taste him, to mouth at his pulse point and learn all of John’s reactions. He wanted to touch him, to feel John’s muscles under his fingers, to let John hold him close and kiss him. 

Sherlock slid his hand under his pants, a loud whimper echoing in the room as he took himself in hand and tugged on his cock slowly. He could almost feel the brush of John’s beard against his cheek, his jaw, his lips, and Sherlock increased his pace. He was chasing his orgasm now, the need to come too strong, too sudden to resist. He buried his head against his pillow, thrusting into his hand as he imaged John’s calloused fingers wrapped around him, his voice whispering praises into his ear and his breath hot against Sherlock’s skin.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock panted, his cock growing harder before he was coming all over his hand, “John!”

Sherlock let go of his sensitive cock, still breathing heavily and refused to open his eyes for several minutes. He focused on the sounds coming from the hallway and the street outside, trying to chase the lingering fantasies out of his head. He needed to regain some composure, to take back control over his body or he wouldn’t be able to face John in less than a hour. 

Three loud knocks against his door startled him awake and Sherlock’s eyes found the clock next to him. 

“Sherlock? Are you here?”

Sherlock was sitting on the bed, taking in John’s hesitant voice behind the door, his dried come inside his pants and the two hours that had passed since he, somehow, fell asleep.

“Sherlock?” John called again.

“I’m here,” Sherlock hurried to reply, standing up to walk toward the door.

“You didn’t meet me so I was worried,” John said, “With the case and all that.”

“No, no,” Sherlock replied, looking around him, a rush of panic rolling over him, “I fell asleep.”

“Oh,” John said, “Can I come in?”

“I’m not-” 

He stopped, reaching for the towel he had left on the chair and some clothes before unlocking the door quietly. He walked to the bathroom door, and called out before closing it “It’s not locked!” He heard John come in just as he closed the door, “I’m just taking a quick shower.”

John’s voice was closer than Sherlock had expected when he answered, “Alright, can I wait here?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied and he heard John’s quiet laugh from inside the room.

He shed his clothes quickly and stepped into the shower, trying really hard not to think of John standing just behind the door. He didn’t have time for another erection now. Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower that quickly, and in less than ten minutes, he was checking himself in the bathroom mirror to make sure he didn’t look too flushed. 

John was looking at the different books on the table by the window, and Sherlock took a deep breath before saying, “Find anything interesting?”

John jumped with surprise, turning around to face him and smiled, “You didn’t write any of these,” he said, pointing to the books. 

“I don’t need to carry my own books with me when I travel,” Sherlock explained, tapping his finger against his temple “It’s all in here.”

“Too bad,” John shrugged, “I’d like to read one of your books!”

Sherlock felt his cheeks heat, looking away as he replied, “Maybe I can bring you one, someday.”

“That’ll be brilliant,” John smiled.

They remained silent for a few seconds, staring at each other, before Sherlock cleared his throat. They needed to get out of this bedroom or Sherlock wouldn’t be able to look John in the eyes, not when he had just masturbated thinking about him mere hours ago in this bed. 

“I need to get something to eat,” he lied, not hungry at all but John’s face lit up.

“Well,” John said, “It’s a bit late for lunch now, but there is a very nice coffee shop in town, we could grab some coffee there and then go to my place for diner?”

“I thought you didn’t come to town often,” Sherlock remarked, but he felt himself smiling as John rolled his eyes.

“I can’t cut myself off from the world entirely,” he replied, “And they serve very good coffee, trust me.”

“I trust you,” Sherlock replied, both of them smiling before looking away. John busied himself with one of Sherlock’s books while Sherlock tried to understand why it felt so natural to have John peeking through his things. 

“Besides,” John said, still not looking at him, “I have something to give you.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

John laughed, turning back to face him and Sherlock took in his red cheeks and smiling eyes, unable to look away, “I’m not telling you.”

Sherlock was about to insist, to force the confession out of John with some sharp deductions but he stopped himself. John seemed genuinely happy at the thought of surprising him, and Sherlock realised he quite liked the idea too. John had something for him. In the twelve hours they’d spent apart since yesterday, John had gone and gotten something for him. Sherlock didn’t avert his eyes as he smiled back at John, letting him see behind the cold mask he had learned to wear every second of every day.

“The quicker we leave, the quicker you’ll know,” John remarked, an amused smile on his lips as he nodded toward the door. 

They were out of the hotel and walking to the coffee shop in less than seven minutes. Sherlock was glad he had left his vest inside the room, the summer heat assaulting him as soon as he walked outside. John seemed at ease, wearing jeans today with a white shirt, the short sleeves making it hard for Sherlock to focus on anything else. 

“I saw the paper on your desk,” John said when they entered the queue inside the coffee shop, “You solved the case?”

Sherlock licked his lower lip, fingers clenching at his side. He hadn’t planned to tell John he had found the killer yet so he could still use the case as an excuse for his prolonged stay in town. John had no reason to change his bandage anymore, the cut had healed nicely, and they both knew it. 

He looked at the patisserie on the counter, making sure he sounded as natural as possible as he replied, “Yes, I did some digging after I left yesterday, and managed to find out who our killer was.”

John raised an eyebrow, smiling and Sherlock realised what he said, but as he was about to correct himself, John said, “So, who was -”

“Hi, what can I get you?” 

John looked at the woman behind the counter and ordered for both of them, remembering how Sherlock had taken his coffee the day before. Sherlock smiled and thanked him, feeling himself blush as John all but grinned at him in return, something akin to pride in his eyes. 

As soon as they were back outside and making their way to John’s house, Sherlock began to explain how he had solved the case. In the end, the killer had been an old student from the local school, just like the Yard suspected, and it had taken Sherlock two hours to break in into the remaining suspects’ house and find traces of the poison in one. James Fith was twenty-seven and, for the majority of his childhood, had been bullied by the other students. Being fascinated by deadly poisons, he had remembered the plants he saw in the woods near his house and decided to take revenge on his old schoolmates, one by one. 

“I can’t believe he managed to kill three people before getting caught,” John breathed out when Sherlock was finished, “This is such a small town.”

“That’s the thing,” Sherlock remarked, “Everyone knows everyone, so no one suspected it could be someone within the community who did it. Stupid.”

John sighed, “I guess they are, yes.” He stopped, finishing his coffee before looking down at the ground under their feet, “Must be amazing, chasing murderers like this, solving crimes.”

Sherlock frowned, not prepared for John to sound so resigned all of the sudden, and he replied carefully, “It’s dangerous sometimes,” and the moment John looked up at him again, Sherlock knew he had just triggered something in him, something that made his eyes light up and his smile widen. Sherlock felt the words bloom in his throat, his lips parting and his heartbeat quickening as he considered, for just a second, asking John if he wanted to help him one day. But Sherlock was now picturing John inside 221B, in the empty chair facing his, with his laugh filling the room and his warm smile directed at Sherlock only, and he swallowed back his invitation. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure he could hold back if John ever came to Baker Street, and he didn’t remember ever feeling so scared before. 

“You’re lucky,” John said, “Sometimes, when I remember the army or the studio I had in London during my studies, I wonder what I’m doing here.”

Sherlock felt the deduction on the tip of his tongue, threatening to breach his lips and spill out, but he forced himself to remain silent. He had deduced from the moment they met that John hadn’t chosen this life because he loved it, or even because he felt more comfortable in the middle of nowhere. John was here because he was certain the world didn’t want him anymore, didn’t need a limping unemployed ex-soldier, and Sherlock felt the urge to explain to him just how wrong he was.

“Nevermind,” John sighed, shaking his head before taking out his key, “You can sit outside, I’ll bring what we need to eat out here.”

He waved at the table and Sherlock nodded, watching John go inside before Toby was all over him again, licking at his hand and seeking a pet. When John came back no more than five minutes later, Sherlock had placed his bag on the table and was looking at John’s garden, making sure the bad herbs he had removed yesterday weren't spreading anywhere else. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock turned around only to find John looking down at his feet, a flush spreading on his neck as he held out some flowers to Sherlock, “For your researches.”

Yellow Lady Slippers Cypripedium calceolus.

John had found him Yellow Lady Slippers and it took everything he had for Sherlock not to pull him close and hug him. Instead he stared at the flowers, breath coming short and eyes wide, “How-”

“I was reading some articles about your work and there was a quote about this flower, and when I saw the picture I remembered seeing some before a bit deeper into the forest, so I thought it might interest you.”

“That’s- Thank you, John.”

He reached for the flowers, noticing his fingers were shaking lightly and held them with care, afraid he would damage them. He had been trying to get his hands on some samples for years, but the restriction policy on this species was very hard to maneuver around and of course the price for just one cutting was outrageous. 

John’s eyes focused on him again, a hesitant smile on his lips, “There’s more where I found them.”

“You’ll need to take me there,” Sherlock said immediately, “This plant is very rare and you could be rich just by selling them.”

“Apparently, yes.”

Sherlock watched him, seeing the amusement in John’s eyes and clear signs of not caring at all about the money. Sherlock’s own lips stretched into a smile, “I need to study them,” he said.

“I figured you would,” John replied, “Got everything you need in there?” he asked, pointing at Sherlock’s bag, and Sherlock nodded, “Are you going to eat anything?”

Sherlock hesitated before shaking his head and John laughed, “Go ahead, I’ll cook something quickly anyway.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be said twice, and he heard John chuckle as he took out his microscope from his bag before placing the flower carefully on the table. Sherlock isn’t sure what exactly happened next beyond the cells and color under the lens of his microscope. He was certain he felt John’s body behind his for a moment, the heat radiating from him making him shiver but Sherlock wasn't able to say how long John stood there, nor what he did. He registered the familiar smell of food, the barks from Toby and Sherlock thought he saw John’s hands moving on the table over the rim of his microscope once or twice.

When Sherlock finally leaned back against his chair and let out a long sigh, night had fallen and John was sitting in front of him reading a book. Sherlock indulged in watching him for a long moment, as John was apparently lost in his reading. The only light came from the old Kerosene lamp John had set on the table, and it seemed to Sherlock that he was seeing John again for the first time. His face was illuminated by the low light and Sherlock’s fingers itched to touch, to stroke over the bridge of his nose, his upper lip, the light hair of his beard. Sherlock found himself wondering, again, how John’s beard would feel against his skin, if the touch would be gentle or rough, if Sherlock would even like it.

 _Of course_ , Sherlock thought. This is John. John who had found him one of the rarest plants in England. John who had stitched him up, asked him about his job, about his case, about his life and never mocked him. John who was sitting there, as if Sherlock hadn’t spent the last three hours ignoring him entirely. 

John looked up at him suddenly, not saying a word but smiling at him. Sherlock watched his lips stretch, curving into a smile he somehow knew now by heart, and he felt the overwhelming need to taste it. 

“Alright?” John asked in a whisper. Sherlock nodded. “Finished?” he asked again, closing his book.

Sherlock swallowed over the lump of pure want choking him before saying, “Yes, I should go back, it’s late.”

John didn’t respond right away, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder for the briefest of seconds before focusing back on Sherlock’s eyes, “Yes, it’s pretty late.” He stopped, and somehow, Sherlock knew exactly the words he was about to say, “You should stay here tonight.”


	4. Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took longer than the others, but this one is 5000 words, and even better, 5000 words of smut ;)  
> Enjoy!

Sherlock stared at John, those five words hanging between them. Sherlock wanted to ask, to discern what he meant, what he was trying to say, but the words were caught in his throat. John didn’t move. He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock, his mouth stretched into a thin line which was not quite a smile. As Sherlock watched John’s tongue darted out to lick at his lower lip. John was nervous, and Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken.

“Stay here?” He whispered.

John nodded, his chest rising as he inhaled deeply, “It’s safer to stay here than walk all the way back to town at this hour,” he replied, but Sherlock knew this was a lie. John lived here. He knew these woods by heart and a walk in the dark wasn’t going to frighten him. Still, he didn’t comment on it, waiting for John to continue but he remained silent.

None of them said a word for several seconds, and Sherlock could feel every nerve in his body tensing. He had so much he wanted to say and at the same time nothing seemed right. So when he finally opened his mouth, letting his voice fill the silent around them, the words he spoke took him by surprise, “There’s only one room.”

It was ridiculous, and Sherlock wished he could take them back as soon as the words were out. For all he knew, John hadn’t been implying anything and with just one sentence, Sherlock had ruined everything.

But John shifted on his chair, resting his elbow on the table as he leaned forward, “I can sleep on the sofa.”

Sherlock swallowed back his disappointment. He knew this wasn’t rational. They’d known each other for less than three days, and really, what had he been expecting? Sherlock looked down at the hands shaking in his lap, but as he was about to reply, he felt John’s foot brush against his ankle, and the contact made his entire body shudder. 

“But if that’s alright with you, I’d rather not.” 

John’s words took all the breath out of Sherlock, and he stared, speechless. John’s foot was still resting against his leg, unmoving. The friction was all that kept Sherlock grounded, all that kept him here, accepting that this was real and John had just declared he’d like to share his room with him tonight. 

“Christ,” John cursed, moving his foot away, “Sherlock, I’m sorry, I thought-”

“No.” Sherlock cut in, reaching for his forearm. He didn’t want to hear John apologize, didn’t want him to take back what he had just said. “No, I want-” he inhaled slowly, staring into John’s bright eyes, “I want this.”

I want you.

Sherlock refused to move, to even blink as John remained silent. His eyes were scanning over Sherlock’s face, sharp and focused, and Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so “naked” in someone else's stare. 

“Sherlock,” John whispered, one hand coming to rest over Sherlock’s on his arm, “You don’t have to-”

Sherlock shook his head, “I mean it.” He smiled tentatively, not sure what he could or couldn’t confess to John about what had been passing through his head since they’d meet, “I want this.”

There was still a table between them and Sherlock found himself hoping he could made it disappear, just so he could stroke his fingers over John’s jaw as his face lit up. 

“I really want to kiss you, Sherlock Holmes,” John murmured and Sherlock could only nod, eyes fluttering closed, too afraid to talk for the moment. 

They were both on their feet and walking around the table in less than a second, but as John slid one hand around his waist, the other coming to rest at the base of his neck, time seemed to slow down. Sherlock shivered, John’s fingers were warm, his body so very close, and their breath tangled in the shared space. 

“Are you sure?” John asked in a whisper.

Sherlock stepped closer as a response and he felt more than he heard John’s soft laugh before there were lips brushing his, the faint stumble of John’s beard grazing against his skin, and Sherlock let out a shaky breath through his nose. He didn’t dare to touch, didn’t dare to move. John pulled away, and Sherlock couldn’t help but nudge his head forward, seeking his lips again and John’s laugh echoed throughout the woods. The next time he was pressing their lips together, John began to truly kiss him, and Sherlock’s knees shook. He held on to John’s shirt, fingers wrapped tightly around the fabric as John sealed their mouths together again and again. 

Sherlock wasn’t sure when he had taken that last step, reducing the space between them to nothing, but suddenly they were pressed against one another and John was deepening the kiss. He licked at Sherlock’s lips, tracing them one by one before slowly before catching the lower one between his own. Sherlock’s eyes were shut tight and he let his hand slide over John’s back, trying to get closer. He realised he had to be the one moaning as John let out a much deeper sound when their tongues met, one of John’s hands now pressed against his nape as the kisses turned more desperate. 

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” John panted when they parted, pressing their lips together in quick, hungry kisses.

Suddenly, the words that had felt like too much just minutes before seemed just right, and Sherlock breathed them against John’s mouth, “I want you.”

John growled, capturing his lips for another deep, long kiss. Sherlock could only hold on to him and let John take him apart piece by piece with just his mouth. He secured both hands around John’s neck, thumbs stroking at the hair over John’s jaw, and Sherlock’s entire body ached for more.

“We should go inside,” John said when their hands became more and more adventurous, Sherlock’s legs threatening to give up on him any moment now. 

Sherlock swallowed back the urge to kiss John again, to never let him step away, and felt his chest expand when John threaded their fingers together, “Alright?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

John smiled, kissing him once more, “Do you need to bring these inside?”

Sherlock blinked, trying to understand what John was saying before remembering the flowers and his microscope on the table. He closed his eyes for a second, “Yes, or the cold will damage them.”

John didn’t let go of his hand as he reached for Sherlock's equipment, letting him take care of the flowers. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other before John squeezed his hand and Sherlock felt genuine happiness rush through him. John lead them back to the house, not bothering to switch on the light, and as soon as Sherlock put the last flower on the table, John was kissing him again. Sherlock moaned inside his mouth, hands pressing against John’s lower back to bring them closer, and he felt John’s fingers sliding through his curls. 

Sherlock let John pull them towards the bedroom, eyes shut tight as he tried to catalogue all of John’s reactions, the way he groaned when Sherlock arched against him, the way his fingers pulled at his hair when Sherlock sucked on his tongue, the way his entire body shivered when Sherlock’s back finally collided with the bedroom door. John slid his hands down his neck, arms and hips to tug one of Sherlock’s legs up, urging him to wrap it around his waist, and Sherlock’s head fell back against the door when their erections brushed against one another’s.

“John,” he panted, hands splayed across John’s back to press them closer together, “John.”

“I can’t believe how much I want you,” John whispered as he kissed down his neck, “From the moment I saw you standing there, flushed and gorgeous.” He mouthed at Sherlock’s collarbone, teeth grazing and Sherlock thrust against him, making them both moan. “And your mind, your fucking brilliant mind,” John continued, hands roaming all over Sherlock’s sides and hips, “Amazing,” he breathed out, “Beautiful.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure he would ever be able to focus again. He was drunk on John’s words, on John’s touch, and the need for more was making his entire body ache. He wanted to tell John, to make him understand how much he had managed to turn his world around in a mere matter of days, make him understand that he had never had anyone make him feel like this, never let anyone see him like this. John needed to know but Sherlock’s head was spinning, and John’s fingers were working on his shirt buttons, mouth descending lower and lower.

Sherlock exhaled loudly, trying to remember how to breathe properly as John’s clever tongue found his right nipple, “Oh.”

He felt John smile against his skin, “Sensitive?” He asked, but Sherlock was unable to formulate any rational reply, biting his lower lip to stop the moans threatening to escape. “No, please, let me hear you.”

Sherlock felt himself relax as John kissed him again, parting his lips and licking into his mouth and when Sherlock let out a loud whimper, he was rewarded by a roll of John’s groin against his, “Oh, God.”

John chuckled into his mouth before kissing his way down Sherlock’s body again, pushing the shirt off of Sherlock’s shoulders until it was resting on the floor. Sherlock shivered, more because of John’s mouth than the sudden cold, and he searched for the door handle blindly, missing it again and again.

“Need some help?” John asked, smiling, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile too, feeling ridiculously happy.

“You're too distracting,” Sherlock said, giving up on trying to open the door and placing both hands back on John’s back and arse. 

“Good,” John grinned.

John kissed at Sherlock’s jaw, his hips starting to rock against Sherlock’s, and Sherlock tightened his grip on John’s waist. His cock was fully erect now from all the teasing, however while his own shirt was gone, John was still fully clothed, “Now you.” He made quick work of John’s plaid shirt, his fingers shaking with anticipation as he could feel John’s eyes focused on his lips. He stopped breathing entirely when John’s shirt fell off his shoulders, and his touch was barely more than a brush of his fingertips when he began to explore the bare skin in front of him. John’s chest was firm, his skin warm and soft, and Sherlock wanted to taste, to discover every inch of John’s body until he could trace it with his eyes closed. 

“Sherlock,” John breathed when Sherlock’s fingers moved over the damaged skin on his shoulder, unable to resist. “This isn’t-”

“It is,” Sherlock cut in. He licked his lips, resisting the temptation to kiss John’s scar, and he felt John’s chest rising heavily. “Fascinating.” 

John covered his hand with his own, and brought it to his mouth, kissing Sherlock’s knuckles, “Am I?”

Sherlock held back a laugh, not sure he could explain just how much, “Yes.”

They stared into each other eyes for several seconds and when John crashed their mouths together, Sherlock was rocking his body against John’s immediately. He needed more, couldn’t begin to understand just how much he wanted John at this very moment, and John moaned loudly inside his mouth when their erections began to slide against one another’s with each thrust.

“Inside,” he panted against Sherlock’s lips, “now.”

He didn’t stop kissing Sherlock as he opened the door and walked him backwards. He felt John smile against his lips before he was pushing Sherlock on the bed.

A loud bark made them both jump with surprise. 

“Toby,” John said, reaching for the dog splayed on the floor by the bed, “You know you’re not allowed in here!” Toby didn’t seem to mind, coming to lick at Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock couldn’t resist petting him gently. “Toby,” John said again, louder, “out, now.”

Toby looked at John for a moment before making his way out of the room lazily. John made sure the door was properly closed before turning to face Sherlock again, both of them bursting into laughter. Sherlock wondered when it had felt so natural to act like this, to let his customary mask fall off and trust someone else. 

“I’m sorry,” John said, coming to join him again, sliding both arms around Sherlock’s waist. “I spoil him too much”

“As everyone should,” Sherlock said, finding it hard to focus again as John began to kiss at his jaw and neck. “Oh, John,” he breathed, throwing his head back while both of his hands found John’s bare back. He felt John’s fingers slide down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his shorts and teasing. Sherlock thrust his hips forward, hoping to get John to take the hint to remove the rest of his clothing. 

John smiled again, slipping two fingers underneath Sherlock’s shorts, “Eager?”

Sherlock rubbed his erection against John’s more firmly, earning a loud groan from John, “Much, yes.”

John laughed again and pushed Sherlock down on the bed. Staring up at him, Sherlock moved up the bed and lay down, letting his legs fall open and began to slide his hands down his own chest slowly. 

“You are beautiful,” John breathed, “absolutely beautiful.”

He crawled on top of him, kissing his way up Sherlock’s chest and neck until they were kissing again, John settling between his legs. Both of their moans echoed in the room when their hips were finally locked together and John began to rock against him. Sherlock’s hands were roaming over John’s back and arse, adding pressure to their movements, “John, please.”

“Yes,” John panted inside his mouth, “Yes, anything.”

“Take them off,” he asked, not specifying whose clothes he was talking about, but John had already finished undressing him, kneeling between his legs before standing up to remove his own jeans and pants. 

Sherlock sat up, resting his weight on his elbows and let his eyes detail all of John’s body. His thighs were compact and muscular and already sweaty, and Sherlock wanted to reach out, to touch, but his eyes found John’s erection, hard and thick, and Sherlock’s mouth watered. 

“Oh, fuck,” John moaned, hurrying to crawl back on top of him and Sherlock’s entire body arched on the bed when bare erections slid together. “Christ, Sherlock, you feel so good.”

Sherlock moaned, unable to formulate any proper sentences at the moment and locked both legs around John’s waist, canting his hips to meet John’s thrusts. John's cock was hot against his, beads of precome smearing over both of their stomachs as they rocked against each other. John was kissing him, a sloppy kiss compared to the previous ones, but Sherlock found it just as marvelous. The short hair of John’s beard were grazing the skin of his jaw and cheeks. He never wanted to stop kissing John, to stop having him here, on top of him, naked, erect, brilliant.

“Hmm,” John moaned when a particular hard thrust from Sherlock made his erection slide lower, brushing Sherlock’s arse cheeks. “God, I want you so much.”

“Like this,” Sherlock gasped, the feeling of John’s cock there making his entire body shudder. “I need you like this.”

John froze on top of him, raising his head so he could stare down at Sherlock, “You mean- You want-”

“You,” Sherlock replied, finding courage in the bright blue eyes above him, “You, inside me.”

John remained still for a second before crashing their mouths together again in a burning kiss. He wasn't moving on top of him anymore, and Sherlock needed more friction. “John.” 

“Fantastic,” John breathed into this skin, kissing the corner of his lips before making his way down Sherlock’s body again, “Amazing.” He continued to murmur praises as his lips kissed Sherlock’s nipple, navel and hipbone. Sherlock hissed when John’s beard brushed his skin, both tickling and arousing, and he wondered if John would agreed some days to rub it all over his body. He licked at the tip of Sherlock’s cock, just a touch of his tongue and Sherlock arched on the bed, a thrill of pleasure running down his spine. His hands were clenched in the sheets, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan as John’s tongue continued to tease at the head.

Just as Sherlock feared he might come before John could even take him entirely inside his mouth, he felt John pull away only to blow at his wet cock lightly, “Are you certain?” he asked, glancing up at Sherlock, eyes filled with lust but also concern. 

Sherlock swallowed with difficulty, nodding, “Yes, but I’ve-”

He trailed off, not certain he should tell John too much. For all he knew this could be a one night thing, John only wanting to have sex with him before Sherlock had to leave again. He didn’t need to know.

“No,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s thigh softly, “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Sherlock said, canting his hips to remind John of what he wanted right now. 

“Sherlock,” John called, reaching for his hand and tangling their fingers together, “I won’t do anything unless I’m certain it’s alright for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Sherlock replied, closing his eyes. 

He felt John’s eyes on him for a long moment before John was crawling back on top of him, kissing his closed eyelids before saying, “Sherlock, look at me.” Sherlock sighed, hoping his eyes wouldn’t betray too much of what he was feeling and stared into John’s eyes. “Sherlock,” John continued, the words dying against Sherlock’s lips, “This is important, this moment, right now. You. You are important and I don’t want to ruin it, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

“Important?” Sherlock asked in a whisper, desperately hoping he could read through John right now. He loved just how much John remained a mystery where other people all were so boring, but in this very moment, Sherlock wished nothing more but to be able to read John’s eyes and see the answer he was looking for there. 

“Of course,” John smiled, kissing him gently, “Of course.” He kissed Sherlock again, several times, quickly, softly until Sherlock felt himself relax in John’s arms. “I don’t know what experience you have with sex, Sherlock, but I don’t want this, us, to end tomorrow.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stare into John’s eyes as he said, “That’s the thing, I don’t have any experience with sex.” He held John’s stare for as long as he could before looking away, feeling his chest tighten. 

“That’s fine,” John whispered, lips finding his again, “We’ll go slowly.”

“I’m not-” Sherlock stopped, “I’ve tried- things. By myself.”

Sherlock was certain he saw John’s eyes darken as he spoke, and he followed the movement of John’s tongue licking over his own lips hungrily. “Yes?” John said, breathlessly.

Sherlock nodded, feeling John starting to move again on top of him. Sherlock had almost forgot his aching erection, and the desperate need for more growing inside him, but the feeling of John’s cock against his made him gasp, “Yes.” 

“Oh, fuck,” John cursed before kissing him again. “We need lube, and a condom,” he said when they parted, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t want to move.”

Sherlock laughed softly, “We should have let Toby stay, he could have fetched them for us.”

John giggled, the sound filling Sherlock’s head and he kissed it away, making it his. “We should have, yes. But then, he would have tried to lie down with us afterward.” Sherlock shook his head, wondering why people never told him how joyous sex could be, how good it felt to have someone to laugh with, naked and panting. “Ok,” John said, kissing him once, twice, before getting off the bed, “Don’t move.”

Sherlock watched as John went to the adjoining bathroom, eyes trailing down his back and arse, stopping to stare at the two round and full arse cheeks. John was stunning, absolutely stunning, and Sherlock knew he would need hours to make sure he had committed every detail of John’s body to memory. “Enjoying the view?” John asked as he made his way back toward the bed quickly, placing the bottle of lube and the condom next to Sherlock’s head on the bed. 

Sherlock shook his head, blushing, but John was laughing again and kissing him, so Sherlock forgot about anything else but the feeling of John’s tongue inside his mouth and his fingers brushing his thighs. 

“We really don’t have to do this tonight,” John said, “There so many things we could-”

Sherlock stopped him, “No, I’m sure.” John remained still for a second before leaning down to kiss him, just a brush of lips at first until the kiss grew more and more heated, and when John’s fingers closed around his erection, all Sherlock could do was hold on to his lover’s back and hope he wouldn’t come too soon.

He heard the sound of John’s opening the bottle of lube, and Sherlock kept his eyes shut as John slicked his fingers. He tensed when he felt one of them against his perineum, massaging slowly and he spread his legs wider. John smiled against his lips, and his fingers moved down to his arsehole, rubbing. “Oh,” Sherlock gasped, the feeling entirely different from when he did this to himself. John frowned, looking down at him, “Alright?”

“Yes,” Sherlock moaned, “Yes.”

John kept his touch light for another long minute, warming Sherlock’s entrance until it was relaxed enough for him to push in. They both whimpered, the sound of their rapid breathing echoing in the room, and Sherlock rested his weight on his elbows again to look down at John’s finger disappearing inside him. John was kneeling between his legs now, pushing one of Sherlock’s legs higher on the bed so he could push deeper inside him, and Sherlock knew he was looking for his- “Oh, god!”

Sherlock fell back on the bed, his cock twitching on his stomach as John found his prostate again, rubbing softly against it. “Good?”

Sherlock nodded, biting his lower lip, not sure if he wanted John to add another finger or just never stop this. John decided for the both of them, grabbing the lube to pour some more on his fingers. Sherlock winced when he pulled out, but he soon felt the familiar touch of John’s fingers against his hole before he was breaching Sherlock’s body again. “God, Sherlock, the way you look, the way you feel around my fingers, fuck.”

“John,” Sherlock whimpered, “please.”

John hit his prostate again and Sherlock almost reached for his cock, desperate for release already, but he held on to John’s hand on his knee instead. “John,” he panted, “more.” He rocked back on John’s fingers as soon as he added another, John panting praises as Sherlock all but fucked himself on John’s fingers.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John whispered, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s body.

“You,” Sherlock moaned, “now.”

John licked his lips, looking up at him and lowering himself on top of Sherlock again to kiss him. His hand stopped moving and Sherlock whimpered, trying to move despite the weird angle of John’s body above his, but John eased his fingers out, “The condom,” he breathed against his lips. It took a few seconds for Sherlock to register what he was asking but then he all but forced the condom into his hand, John’s laugh resonating in the room again. 

Sherlock’s head was spinning as John sat back on his heels to roll the condom onto his cock. Sherlock was overwhelmed by the urge to taste again, to take John into his mouth and learn every vein and curve of his cock with his tongue. But right now he felt empty. “John, please,” he panted, not sure exactly what he was asking for.

John grabbed the lube to slick up his cock before lying down on top of him again. He nudged Sherlock’s legs a little more open, “Around my waist,” he said and Sherlock obliged quickly, the fat head of John’s cock rubbing against his arse, “Yes, like that.” John stopped moving, kissing his jaw and lower lip before breathing against mouth, “Ok?”

Sherlock stared up at him, taking in the worry in John’s eyes, but also the bare lust and arousal there, and he canted his hips just a little higher, “Yes.”

John slid a hand between their bodies, guiding his cock against Sherlock’s arsehole and pushing just the head inside. They both moaned loudly, Sherlock’s entire body shivering as he tightened his grip around John’s waist. “Oh god, Sherlock”, John groaned, threading his fingers through his hair and letting out a shaky breath. Sherlock dug his nails into his back, hoping he could leave marks that would never fade, marks that would remind John of this very moment for the rest of his life. 

“Hmmm,” Sherlock moaned as John undulated his hips, still just the head of his cock inside Sherlock, teasing. “John,” he gasped, trying to take him deeper by rocking back against him, but then John was pushing in, stretching Sherlock open slowly and taking all the air out of his lungs. 

“You ok?” John asked between two ragged inhales of breath, and Sherlock could only nod, feeling every inch of John’s erection slide into him and he found himself hoping he would never forget the feeling of John inside him, filling him, making him whole. “Fuck,” John panted, “Fuck, Sherlock, you feel-” He stopped, his groin now pressed against Sherlock’s arse, buried deep inside him. 

Sherlock recaptured mouth, breathing John’s air, and neither of them moved. Sherlock tentatively clenched his muscles around John and the broken gasp that escaped his lips made Sherlock shiver. “John,” he moaned, “please.” John kissed him, his breath hot and his entire body shaking as he pulled out only to push back inside him right away, making Sherlock arch on the bed. 

John set a slow pace, thrusting into Sherlock tenderly, their lips never breaking apart. Sherlock didn’t know, hadn't realised. It felt as if he had given control to John entirely, and somehow, it felt good, natural. Sherlock trusted him, in this very moment, he trusted John with everything he had. 

“Sherlock, oh god,” John breathed, his hips starting to slap against Sherlock’s arse as he sped up his pace. Sherlock planted his feet higher on the bed and John slid in deeper.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped, “There!”

John groaned, “Fuck, yes,” and he started to thrust harder into him. He braced himself on his elbows, staring down at Sherlock and pushing his stomach against Sherlock’s erection trapped between them. Sherlock arched his back, seeking more friction against his cock. John’s thrusts were becoming more erratic, losing their controlled pace, and Sherlock watched in awe at John’s face. He could become addicted to this, to John above him, inside him, all over him, and strangely, the thought didn’t scare him as much as it should.

He held on to John tighter, feeling his cock pulse between their bodies, and he realised he was close, so very close, “John, John, I’m-”

“Yes,” John kissed him, sloppy, their tongue swirling, “God, Sherlock.”

Sherlock felt his entire body shudder, pushing against John’s thrusts before going completely still, coming in long spurts on their stomachs. He felt more than he heard John growl, all but pounding into him and Sherlock tightened his muscles around him until John was coming, buried deep inside him. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, fingers tightening in Sherlock’s curls. 

Sherlock, still lost in the afterglow, barely registered John pulling out and disposing of the condom. He only snapped out of his haze when John was snuggling against him, manoeuvring Sherlock until they were facing each other, both on their sides, and John was kissing him slowly. Sherlock realized he could still feel John inside him, and he kissed him a little harder. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked after a long moment, their mouths still pressed together and Sherlock marvelled at the feeling of John’s lips moving against his.

“Good,” Sherlock smiled, “Very good.”

John traced his upper lip with his tongue before kissing it softly, “You need to tell me if I hurt you in any way,” he whispered. 

Sherlock shook his head, “I’m fine,” he snuggled closer to him, nuzzling his head under John’s chin and against his neck, “Absolutely fine.”

John slid his arms around him, holding him close. Sherlock let out a content sigh, closing his eyes and concentrating on John’s heartbeat under his hand, pressed against John’s chest. “Goodnight, Sherlock,” John murmured and Sherlock hummed, his body going pliant in John’s arms.

Tomorrow, Sherlock thought before falling asleep, tomorrow he would tell John about Baker Street, about the two chairs facing each other, about the lab in the basement and the skull on the mantelpiece. Maybe he would tell him about the second bedroom, just maybe.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me during this story and left kudos and such amazing comments!
> 
> I will propably go back to this AU from time to time, so stay tuned for more Lumberjack John ;)

Sherlock woke to a gentle brush of a mouth pressing light kisses over his nape, a shiver running through him as John’s beard brushed his skin with every slide of his lips. 

Refusing to open his eyes yet, Sherlock pressed back against John’s chest and felt his own lips stretch into a warm smile. Head still full with sleep, he took in the feeling of John’s hands on his stomach, his chest pressed against his back and their legs tangled under the covers. Sherlock wondered when was the last time he woke up feeling happy. 

“Morning,” John whispered, the words breathed against Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock hummed, the hand lying on the mattress moving to rest over John’s.  
“Slept well?” John asked, the smile in his voice obvious, and suddenly the urge to kiss him overwhelmed Sherlock.

He pulled away just enough to roll over, eyes fluttering open and before he could properly admire a barely awake John Watson, there was a mouth sliding over his, and Sherlock forgot about anything else. They kissed lazily for several minutes, only breaking apart to catch their breath, and Sherlock’s heart was pounding inside his chest. 

“I could kiss you for hours,” John breathed against his lips, making Sherlock blush even if they were currently naked and cuddling, and John smiled before kissing him again softly. 

“John, I-” Sherlock began before trailing off, struggling to find the right words for what he wanted to say, what he wanted to make John understand.

“Yes?” John smiled, snuggling closer. 

“For as long I can remember,” he finally said, “I’ve always hated relationships.” He felt John tense against him, the hands, that until now had been tracing unknown patterns against his back stopping. Sherlock hurried to add, “No, you don’t understand,” he said, kissing the corner of John’s mouth, “I always thought relationships were useless, more a waste of time than anything else, and not once have I’ve been proven wrong.” He stopped, staring into John’s eyes and finding what he needed there to continue, “Until two days ago.”

John didn’t reply at first, didn’t move, and Sherlock held his breath. He had no idea how it worked, this, and if the prospect of even talking about it with John was making his chest ache, Sherlock couldn’t go back to London without knowing. 

“John?” He asked tentatively.

“That day,” John finally said, keeping his eyes fixed on his, “When I spotted you behind that bush, wearing that ruined suit and looking so annoyed.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and John laughed. “At that very moment, I didn’t simply think I should make sure you were alright, Sherlock. I came to talk to you because I couldn’t remember the last time I saw someone so breathtakingly beautiful.”

Sherlock searched John’s face, not certain what he was looking for, and only found pure adoration in every line and curve of John’s skin, “John,” he said, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet room, and John’s smile grew wider.

“I felt stupid, talking to you and not being able to focus on your wound properly because you were so close and staring at me,” John let out a shaky breath, “God, Sherlock, I could have kissed you right there.” Sherlock watched as John’s eyes filled with something like shame, and he brushed their lips together again. “I sound like a bloody teenager,” John said, “Christ, I even feel like one.”

Sherlock chuckled, kissing the frown between John’s eyebrows before saying, “I don’t think I would have minded.”

“What?”

“You,” Sherlock smiled, “kissing me.”

John stared at him, “Yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, the warmth in his chest expanding to his entire body as John leant in again and captured his mouth for another kiss. It was only when they heard a bark behind the closed door that they parted, already panting, Sherlock’s arousal building with every second. 

“Toby,” John sighed, his breath hot against Sherlock’s lips. “I’ll tell you what,” he grinned as Sherlock’s cock pulsed between their bodies, “I’ll go and take him out, and you go for the shower, and,” he kissed Sherlock’s jaw, chin and neck before adding, “then, I’ll join you and show you what I’ve been thinking about for the past two days.”

Sherlock shivered, his cock now definitely interested and he thrust against John’s own growing erection, making them both moan. “I take that as a yes, then?” John asked and Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh, kissing him before saying, “Hurry up, or I’ll start without you.”

John’s eyes went dark and he kissed Sherlock hungrily for several minutes, both of them rocking together slowly. When John, reluctantly, left the bed after making sure he was rock hard and panting, Sherlock rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling above him. He listened to John’s voice in the other room and closed his eyes for the briefest second. 

“You better be inside that shower, Sherlock Holmes!” John called from the living room and Sherlock was up to his feet immediately, his laughter echoing behind him as he rushed for the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are really appreciated :)


End file.
